


Blackhole Sun

by AUO



Category: Fate/EXTRA
Genre: Almost smut, F/M, silly fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-17 02:20:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2293382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AUO/pseuds/AUO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hakuno has a recurring dream. It isn't what you think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blackhole Sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My Beloved Jrod](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=My+Beloved+Jrod).



> I am so, so sorry.

It's this dream again. It's nighttime, and I'm in the shower, steam hot and thick in my lungs. No matter what I feel, no matter how many times this scene plays out, I can't stop it. Like always, I stop the water before washing the conditioner out of my hair. Like always, I opt to rinse my hair cold instead of waiting for the water to heat again. Like always, my towel is nowhere to be found when I finally step out of the bath. 

Terror dawns on my dream body, but I myself am rather bored. 'Hurry up,' I think, trying to push the dream onward with only my will. I just want this to be over with. I'm indifferent now, but it won't be that way for long. Having to go through the extraneous process of sitting in the bathroom, worrying pointlessly, before inevitably grabbing the short handtowel to at least cover my ladybits, is not only tedious but only serves to make unwanted anxiety coil in the pit of my stomach. I peek out of the doorway sideways, to hide my mostly bare body and shield against the cold chill of my private room. 

There, as always, is the familiar platinum blond mop of hair, just peeking out over the top of a haphazardly made makeshift bed of desks. Confusion and, more infuriatingly curiosity, wash over my dreamself. I want to punch myself in the face. 'No, it isn't your servant, it's that goddamn armor fucker!!!' I scream at myself, but the ghost in the machine is eternally separated from my rational thought. 

I step out timidly, one foot, then the other, trying to sneak past the sleeping man. At the sight of his face, so completely at rest, bangs curling ever so slightly to gently frame his strong jaw and delicate features, sweat begins to bead at my forehead. The room seems to be at least ten degrees hotter than it was. Those degrees being Celsius by the way. It feels hotter than the bath I just stepped out of. My mouth is so dry. Like cotton balls were shoved inside and then it was swabbed with a shamwow for good measure. There's no other word for it. I'm thirsty. It's like I'm in the goddamn Sahara and there is no oasis in sight - aside from the tall drink of water laid out in front of me.

No. I must resist. I must refuse. This is where the dream path diverges, though no matter the differences, it always ends up the same. I will not jump his sweet, sweet, armored bones. I repeat that mantra in my head, but the longer I look at him, the more severe my thirst gets. I think my real body might be being affected. But I cannot look away. Looking away from him, taking my eyes off him for even a second, is a loser flag. Even if I don't instigate it myself, if I look away, he'll wake up, and he'll be right there behind me, with his calm soft eyes and his hot breath and then of course we'll-

I shake my head fervently. In my weakness I've taken a step into the danger zone, instead of home-base. If I could just get to that closet, just get some clothes on, this dream can finally end without incident.

Time crawls to a slow for those few last steps. The ticking of the clock is deafening. I'm not sure if I'm breathing. And then-

Oh my god. I did it. I'm here. I blindly reach for my clothes, pulling out pantyhose, then my turtleneck, and- where's my underwear? Fuck underwear. It doesn't matter as long as I'm covered. Just gotta get my skirt, for an extra layer of protection - not just from that damn armor fucker but from my own seemingly insatiable thirst. At last, I feel the hem and tug- unfortunately pulling a shoebox down with it. It clatters thrice, one for the box and another for each shoe, creating a sound that could only be likened to the rancorous roar of the very earth itself splitting apart.

And then-

In slow motion, fair eyelashes flutter. The terror I feel has no equal. Eyelids lift to reveal eyes the color of the primordial tides from whence all life came.

It is like the awakening of the end of the world.

Our gazes lock.

I'm caught like a deer in the headlights, if deer had a sense of modesty and opposable thumbs to hold scraps of clothing with in an attempt to cover up.

Surprisingly, his gaze is devoid of the usual smolder or slyness they usually take on in these dreams. Instead, he just looks... Sleepy. Mildly confused and languid. I'm surprised at myself, too. The thirst hasn't abided, but as long as he's the normal armor fucker I know and debatably love and not the silver tongued incubus of my dreams, I can control myself.

I make a move to put on my clothes.

That's when it happens.

I see the word those pretty lips of his form before I hear them.

"Master?"

Something inside me snaps.

And then I'm on him, clothes who knows where and who the hell cares. My hands are on either side of his face, pulling him into something that less resembles a kiss and more resembles a declaration of war. I press my bare body against him fully, not even minding the sharp cold of his armor. His tongue is on mine, calm and skillful, while I can only writhe with all the built up thirst and immense fucking anger at being in this position once again. It's sloppy and it's wet and it is, frankly, disgusting, but I don't care, I don't care, I don't fucking care. Even so, his arms embrace me tightly, fingers laced loosely in my bundle of damp dark hair.

I'm only annoyed with his armor when I make to rut against him in an attempt to relieve my own need, and am met with cold, hard, steel. I separate myself from him only far enough that I can undo the buckles that hold the pieces of his armor together, deftly loosening them to pry them off, like some kind of deranged otter that pries apart the shell bits from muscles instead of just pulling the meat out.

Breastplate, coil, faulds? Off. Greaves? I think I broke a lamp throwing them to the side. Vambraces? So gone they might not have existed in the first place.

I grind myself against his lap unimpeded, now. Those pretty pretty eyes flutter shut again and his mouth forms a small "O" though the sound he makes comes as a growl from his chest. Smiling, I disengage from his lap, earning - if I'm not mistaken - a small whimper. The corners of my lips curl into an uncharacteristically devious smirk, and I rest my head against his thigh while ghosting a loosely cupped hand against his heat. He grits his teeth, bucking into my palm needily, managing a strained "Please," between moans. I give his length one last good squeeze, before lazily situating myself between his legs, licking my lips languidly while peering up at him through half-lidded eyes, searching for the waistband of his pants.

Except- wait. These aren't pants. What- just what the hell am I looking at? It's just. Blackness. Black with blue.... Arm warmers? Leg warmers? What? The panic and anxiety from before comes back with a vengeance. This darkness.... I've felt it before.

_You cannot escape fate._

He looks at me quizzically as I peel the blue... Things... Off. It's no use. Underneath is only more black.

I don't know what I'm looking at. My heart is thumping, and my vision swimming. Terror. That is the only feeling that comes to me. Sheer, unbridled terror.

_It is the fear of the unknown._

'What is that,' my mind screams. It's screaming my mind is screaming and I can't shut it up I cannot answer it for there is no answer. This... This thing he wears... It is the void itself.

Upon realizing that, the world itself seems to crack, breaking apart, and throwing itself at him to return from whence it came. It is a black hole. I can't draw my eyes from it. Everything around me is crumbling, the very atmosphere of the room is being sucked into that implacable garment. But it isn't just a black hole. No, it is far worse. It is a doorway into nothingness, existence before existence, a time before time, the very blackness to which the entirety of the universe will someday collapse into once again.

It is the end of ends.

I'm screaming. I must be, but I can't hear myself. My voice must be getting sucked in with the rest of this world. I, too, am falling in. There's almost nothing left for me to hold onto.

My mind reels. 'I just... If I could just understand what that thing is, then maybe...?' I think. It is my one hope, my one last wish. If there is a Holy Grail, please, let my wish be granted. I must have voiced my question aloud, because I can see Gawain's mouth moving in my peripheral vision. But no matter what, I cannot focus on it, I cannot pry my eyes from my fate at the infernal depths of oblivion.

It's okay, me not knowing. There are some things mere mortals are perhaps not meant to comprehend.

-

My eyes snap open and my thick hair clings insufferably to my drenched neck. My mind is still hazy from sleep and heat, but I pull myself up anyway. I need a shower. The room I'm in is almost blindingly white. I vaguely recognize it as the Nurse's Office.

"Oh, Ms. Kishinami, please wait just a moment for Saber to get back, if you wish to leave. You've suffered quite the attack, and as it is my duty to ensure the health of all Masters, I cannot allow you to leave without your servant," Sakura prattles on, and though I wish to get out of these sticky clothes, I am reassured enough for the time being to sit on a bed.

Saber... That's right, my Servant is the proud and noble woman dressed in red. A master of the sword, sworn to protect me. I'll be happy to see her again, after another one of those nightmares.

"Ah, that should be him," Sakura says, as the handle of the door turns. Wait, _he_...?!

The radiance from the door is even more blinding than the white-walled room. It's as if the sun itself decided to visit. But set opposed to that blinding whiteness...

My throat goes dry.

"Why hello, Sir Gawain."

I don't know when it happened, but I'm screaming. I scream and scream and scream.

It is a scream that cuts through time, across universes, into the heart of darkness itself.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in response to actual Gawain/Hakuno porn I am TRYING to write. Whatever Gawain wears underneath his armor keeps me up at night.


End file.
